Sin Laced Sweet Infatuation
by AnnikaTwist
Summary: Obsession, desire, capture, handcuffs, mwhahahaha, in other words a smashing good romance story. Just read it, trust me you won't be sorry. And of course, it's Harry/Draco*Slash*Chapter 5is up!!!!!!
1. Bleeding Heart

Sin Laced Sweet Infatuation 

Sin Laced Sweet Infatuation   
Disclaimer: I do not own a single one of these characters, I just love to mess around with them every so often, and oh what delicious fun it is. Warning: Also, this story contains slash, which means, well I'm sure you know what it means, but in my story it is just the undying love that two boys have for one another. If this bothers you in any way, I suggest you hit the back button immediately. 

Chapter 1- Bleeding Heart Something hurt. Deep inside Harry's chest something ached bitterly. For the last few weeks it seemed to have always been like this, never ceasing, even in his dreams, he hurt. It burned and it stung and it tore at his insides; it was eating him alive. And the horrible thing was, Harry knew why almost exactly. It was because of *him*. Ugh, that didn't sound right. In fact the whole thing wasn't right and that was the main reason Harry spent considerable amounts of time feeling ill. It *wasn't* right, that was part of the problem. Harry spent hours, long hours laying awake at night staring into blackness for so long that stars began to materialize and fade in and out of his vision. He spent these hours tearing himself apart, thinking so hard he began to feel numb, asking himself over and over again: why? It didn't make sense, it just wasn't right. The endless stream of questions became so agonizingly monotonous that they began to always be present in Harry's mind. Always in the back of his thoughts were the questions. The probing, unrelenting, terrorizing questions. God, he couldn't stand it, it was all so unbearably frustrating. He was so *sick* of all of this, he was so tired, so, so tired. The entire thing was tearing him apart, it was killing him. Seriously, literally, completely. He wanted to lay down somewhere and die. He wanted...uh, he didn't even know what he wanted anymore. All he knew was that breathing hurt, and feeling things hurt, and he felt so drained, so indescribably exhausted and sick of everything. He was sick of that hollow achy filling, like an enormous piece of his heart had been cut away and he was left with emptiness. He was sick of wanting something he couldn't have. That was it, the wanting. The crushing, agonizing desire that was killing him. And it was all because of *him.* A moan escaped his lips, barely audible over the incessant throbbing of blood in his ears. There was a rustling noise to Harry's left. Someone was turning over in bed, stirring in their sleep. Ha, sleep. An ironic, slightly bitter smile curved the corners of Harry's mouth. The word sounded so familiar, yet the actual act, so foreign. How long had it been since Harry had slipped away into that world? When he'd been able to surrender to the velvety caress of darkness, to become lost in dreams. No, nightmares. They were all nightmares now. Harry's torturous thoughts would hardly abandon him when he closed his eyes. It was then that they could seize full control of his mind. It was theirs for the taking, and they ravaged it, filling it with all the horrible things Harry had been shoving away during the day. They swept over everything, painting their dark pictures, filling every inch of Harry with terror. Even the breath that emitted from Harry's lips was laced with pain, with torment and he awoke weak and shaking, with his heart pounding against his ribs and damp chunks of hair trembling on his forehead. In fact now Harry was lying draped sideways across the bed, twisted in the sheets. He was exhausted from just trying to fall asleep, from all his restless thrashing about. A broken sigh escaped parched lips and Harry rolled over, groping for his glasses on the nightstand. He needed water. It would give him something to do. With a groan, Harry slipped from the bed of nightmares and padded silently across the dark room. He paused in the still bathroom and tried for a single second not to think about the person constantly on his mind. For a split second Harry managed to think of nothing. But as quickly as the moment had come, it ended. It was impossible. Harry was always thinking of him, dreaming of him, yearning for him. For those silvery blue eyes, to be enfolded in those slender brown arms, everything about him was devastatingly irresistible. Every inch of Harry ached for him, but when he thought about what *he* would say, what *he* would do if he found out.... Harry fell back shakily against the wall, his breath coming in sharp, quick bursts. It was like knives embedded in his chest and every breath hurt. He shut his eyes and tried to wipe his mind of the look of utter disgust and loathing etched in *his* eyes. It was the look Harry knew he'd get if he ever found out. Harry slid weakly down the wall to rest his head in his trembling hands. *Fuck you Draco Malfoy.* He hated him, he hated him with a passion, just because he was such a malicious little bastard. But at the same time, he was obsessed with him. He loved everything he did, it was an infatuation. Blind, mindless infatuation. It wasn't even so much that he really hated him, he just knew that he should, which really made the situation a hundred thousand times worse. It was so twisted, so wrong, but Harry couldn't help it. The frightening thing was the inevitable way Draco thought about Harry, which was of course he'd rather chop Harry to death with a blunt ax than have any sort of relationship with him. If Draco ever, ever found out how Harry felt... Harry gave a horrible involuntary shudder. The thought chilled him to the bone, literally. Harry drew his arms around his shivering shoulders and heaved himself off the damp bathroom floor. It frightened him how much he felt for Draco. Even when he did throw Harry murderous glares Harry's heart would swell with joy, just because *he* was looking at him. Harry would do anything for Draco, he knew he would. And it scared him to death. He'd never felt this way about anybody before. The emotions were so strong, that Harry felt he was drowning in them and he could do nothing but let himself get swept away, absolutely helpless to his devastatingly brutal, ravaging emotions. He felt destroyed by them, and really, it was too much to bear. If Draco had wanted to slice open Harry's chest and cut out his heart, Harry knew that he would fall to his knees before Draco, tearing open his shirt with eager and obsessive readiness. The situation it seemed, was becoming desperate. Harry slipped beneath the blankets and lay shaking for several moments with his eyes squeezed shut. He always felt cold lately, as if the very pit of his heart had turned to ice. Maybe that was why his chest hurt; maybe the jagged edges of his frozen heart were cutting away at his insides. Harry turned in the twisted sheets, and buried his face in the pillow, feeling ill. The pillow smelled cold and stale, exactly how Harry felt inside. He was burned out to say the least, dead. And even if he wasn't really, he wanted to die. But all he could do was lay there wretchedly, miserable and shaking and thinking of Draco. There was no way Harry could have known or even dreamed that, at that very same moment, in another part of the very same castle Draco Malfoy sat, on an icy window ledge clutching a bottle of vodka and thinking the very same things. ~ Review, please. Me only asking once is a ridiculous understatement. There will be more coming very soon, so don't despair. I hope you like this story as much as I love writing it, until next time~ 


	2. Harry Fucking Potter

Sin Laced Sweet Infatuation

Sin Laced Sweet Infatuation   
Disclaimer: These characters did not come from my head; so don't get the wrong idea. I'm not *that* brilliant (grins wickedly) I just love pretending they are my own. **Also!! This story is slash, containing naughty things occurring between two boys. If this makes you feel violently ill I would suggest you take a hasty step back from the computer now, then once you're finished you can do us all a favor and just leave. 

Chapter 2- Harry fucking Potter   
He was curled up on the sill of an enormous window, pressed as close as he could to the frost kissed pane. It was January, in the dead of winter and outside everything lay still and frozen. Draco watched it through glassy eyes, not really seeing anything, his expression hollow and lifeless. He was freezing. He could feel icy tendrils of the bitter night air seeping in through the cracks of the window. The cold bit at his cheeks and stung his ears, but he felt nothing all the same. He might have been shivering, maybe that was why the window rattled so, but it didn't matter. Only one thing mattered, only one person anyway and Draco would be damned if he was caught thinking of him. And so it seemed, Draco was. Since that one person was all he could ever think about. Harry fucking Potter. The one person in the world who Draco thought was safe to hate. Evidently, he had been wrong. The unbearable urge to kill Harry had somehow turned into an unbearable urge to... er, do something else to him. Draco had no idea where it had come from, it seemed to have quietly approached him from behind, until one day it grabbed him about the neck and tackled him to the ground. The first few days of it, Draco had been in vehement denial, but as he lay there with this enormous weight crushing his chest and squeezing the air out of his lungs, it became difficult to ignore. The truth was painfully evident when Draco began to find himself thinking of nothing else. He found himself aching for the bottle green eyes and messy black hair falling dramatically against ivory skin. At the same time though, the whole thing made him feel suicidal. He hated, absolutely *hated* feeling this way. He despised it and for that he despised himself. But it wasn't even just the physical attraction (though for Christ's sake that was impossible to ignore) it was more than that. The way Harry had been so good and perfect used to make Draco feel ill, but now it made Draco want him even more. He was everything that Draco was not. Harry was kind and good, and beautiful and smart. He was The Boy who Lived after all, the god damned hero of their generation. Everybody adored him to say the least, and Draco detested himself for seeping into the stereotype. Becoming one of the millions who treated Harry as some sort of untouchable god. But even without the title, he was Harry. The kind of person who would help anybody, who would risk his own neck for the greater good. When you even stole a glance at his eyes, they were bright and shone with a kind of earnestness you could never find in someone like Draco. Draco, with his cloaked emotions and deceptive composure. With his snide remarks, and his icy, twisted sneer. He would be the first to thrust a knife in your back and everybody knew it. Before though, it had been all right. They all hated Draco and Draco had hated the world. It had been perfect. But then, Harry fucking Potter had come along and fucked everything up. Draco's world was wrenched upside down and things that ordinarily made sense, no longer seemed right. The emotions Draco was experiencing were so foreign he felt infected by them, like he'd caught some horrible disease. And it was spreading over him like wildfire, inescapable and painfully inevitable. At the same time Draco obsessed over him, there was still a bold undercurrent of anger. Draco's dark streak ran deep, and he wanted to hurt Harry for what he'd done to Draco. He wanted to hurt Harry for making him hurt. This stupid obsession was crushing him; it was slowly sucking the life from his body making him drained and lifeless. He knew (though he would never admit it) that even if he did confess these distorted feelings that he had, Harry would never accept him. Harry was his enemy after all; his adversary in every respect and Harry was too good for him. It killed him to admit it, even to himself but it was true. He could never be anywhere near as wonderful as Harry Potter. He knew he didn't deserve him, and worst of all he knew Harry didn't feel the same way. It hurt. A lot, to feel this feverish torrent of emotions and know they would never be returned in any way. Draco had thought, long ago that his heart had turned to ice. That it was impossible for him to care about anyone, let alone this much. Everything he had known, everything that had been drilled into him since he was born taught him otherwise. Lesson, after excruciating lesson with his father emphasized the fact that he was not to show emotion. Not to experience it, save the essentials: fear, anger, hatred and so on. Feeling otherwise led directly to pain, despair, and destruction and that was unmistakably not a choice. Not one Draco was supposed to be making anyway. Every fiber of his being screamed at him that feeling this way was something not to be done. It was simply not an option. And yet, here he was. Heart clenching brokenly within his chest, wracked with such jarring bursts of poignant emotion that he felt it would shatter. Draco could feel it now, aching endlessly. The pain was so intense, so acute that there were moments when he felt he couldn't bear it any longer. It was the worst when he was right near Harry. The closer he was, the greater it seemed was the distance. It was horrible during the day, in classes, when Harry would sit with those stupid friends of his and they would laugh at something and smile like idiots. They were all so sickeningly happy and Draco was miserable. He hated them for it, because he had never been happy, and so it seemed, never would be. Then one of them would make some sort of smart remark and laugh endlessly at Draco, and they'd give him these icy stares. But Harry's were the worst by far. Harry would glare at him, his bright green eyes dim with loathing. His fingers would knot into fists and Draco could almost feel jagged currents of hatred grinding into his flesh. During moments like these, Draco wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor and die. He hated Harry for hating him, but at the same time he was dizzy with this infatuation for him. During the day he'd hide behind his impassive mask, and somehow we was able to glare back at Harry quite convincingly. But inside, he was dying. And at night, the facade would melt away and he was left with this piercing, unfulfilled desire. Sleep was beyond him, but that was nothing new. Draco had never been able to surrender to darkness, instead he embraced it. He would usually just listlessly wander the empty corridors, drowning his sorrow in a bottle of something alcoholic. It took the edge off the pain, and it helped blur his thoughts, helped slow down the dizzying speed at which things darted across Draco's mind. And now he sat, slouched against the frozen glass of a bleak landscape, scowling darkly. It seemed his normal bottle wasn't succeeding in successfully dimming his thoughts. They continued to bang restlessly about inside his head and it made him angry. Everything made him angry these days. It seemed his father had always been right. Anger followed pain in quick succession and it had begun to occur more and more frequently. He was always looking to smash something, whether it be a glass bottle or somebody's face. He tipped the bottle once more to his lips only to find it completely drained. He gazed forlornly out the frosted glass, feeling anger swell inside him. The moon hung silvery and still over the frozen ground and it all looked so peaceful and calm that for a moment Draco wished to fling the bottle through the glass and shatter the perfect stillness. His fingers curled fiercely round the bottle in a grip so tight his hand began to shake. He glowered at the picturesque scene and wanted to scream, his shoulders trembling with fury. He didn't just want to break the lovely picture he wanted to break Harry's face, he wanted to watch crimson ribbons stream into those perfect crystal green eyes. He wanted to break him, to bring him crashing to his knees, so that he would scream as loud as Draco wished to now. For a moment, Draco's eyes grew almost black with rage and his chest hurt as it rose and fell heavily in large ragged gasps. But then it was gone, the moment of anger passed and Draco's grip about the bottle slipped as he fell back against the wall. The bottle splintered as it collided with the stone ledge and bits of glass showered Draco's legs. He immediately felt sickened by the pictures that had just flooded his mind and it frightened him when these torrents of anger gripped him. The emotions were too much for Draco's slender frame, too passionate for someone so young. He felt violated by them and yet, he could not escape them. His shoulders continued to shake and he closed his eyes, letting his head fall against the glass with exhaustion. He was so tired, he just wanted to slide into Harry's arms and forget everything. For a moment, his shoulders ceased to tremble as his head was filled with thoughts of Harry. But something in the back of his mind sent him a sting of realization, reminding him that Harry hated him and had perfect cause to do so. It scolded him for thinking such sordid thoughts, boys didn't think this way of other boys. It was sick, it was twisted, it was wrong. Draco often wanted to tear this part of his mind from his head, but he knew it was permanently implanted there and had been there since he was small. It was the voice he'd heard as far back as he could remember, the horrible cold one, drained from emotion, save bitterness and distaste. It was the voice of Draco's father. Draco pressed his cheek wearily to the frozen glass, as if the pain from the cold would help soften the pain in his chest. When that didn't work Draco found his hand curling round a shard of broken glass. The sharp edges bit into his palm and fingers and Draco inhaled sharply as the glass shredded his flesh. Ruby jewels glistened against his dark skin before streaming together to run all down his wrist. Draco watched in horrified fascination, as his sleeve grew sodden with blood. He shut his eyes and let the glass fall from his hand, feeling warm wet drops trickle down his arm. Draco sat slumped against the glass for a quite a while, before he noticed the stars beginning to dissolve from the velvety sky, and it was then that he slipped from the windowsill and retreated into the fading darkness, to lay in bed only to crawl from it and face the nightmare once again. ******* Hmm, hope you liked it. More action promised in forthcoming chapters, not so much reflecting and all that. Review, review, review. Thanks~ 


	3. Smothered Emotion

Sin Laced Sweet Infatuation

Sin Laced Sweet Infatuation  
Disclaimer: These characters are not my property, they have been created by and used brilliantly by Miss J.K. Rowling. All though she does a simply marvelous job, it gets rather long waiting between each book so here's what I do to entertain myself. ***Also ( I wonder if I really have to say this *every* bloody time) if you are in any way uncomfortable with the idea of two boys getting it on, har har, just kidding that hasn't happened quite yet, so let's just say two boys erm, really wanting to get it on, anyway you get my drift, if any of this upsets you then please go away. I don't want you here any more than you want to be here. 

In the chest, there's an emptiness  
Heartbeats ring in hollow halls  
And the patient says he's feeling fine  
But that's just the drugs he's on And you cry, trying to find a voice  
That reminds you of your own  
But every word that passes from your lips  
Is counterfeit, illegitimate - Firewater (haha, they're an awesome band, amazing, amazing songs. If you haven't heard of them, check them out, they rock my world.) Chapter 3- Smothered Emotion Harry was staring dismally into his plate of scrambled eggs, not hungry, and not noticing as Ron and Hermione exchanged worried glances over the top of his head. Even if he had noticed, he would have been nothing but exasperated. They were always anxious about him and it seemed they did nothing but exchange worried glances. "Erm... Harry?" Hermione began in a tight voice. Harry didn't bother to look up. "Yes?" "We uh- I mean, me and Ron that is, we've been a bit worried about you lately." Harry spoke darkly to his scrambled eggs, "What else is new?" "What?" "Nothing." "Oh." There was a slightly awkward pause, then Ron decided to try. "Is there something wrong Harry?" Harry's answer was curt. "No." Ron hurried on, sounding rather nervous. "You see, because if there was anything wrong Hermione and I'd be glad to help." Harry's patience was growing short and he spoke through clenched teeth. "Really Ron, I'm fine." "Well, if you're sure..." "Yes," Harry bit out, "quite sure." "Well all right." Heavy silence fell upon the small group, and for a moment Harry felt sorry for his two close friends. He'd been nothing short of miserable the past few weeks, and he felt bad about how horrid he'd been to them. You couldn't blame them for being worried. As the days progressed Harry just got worse and worse and he felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into a quagmire of gloom. As breakfast ended and the three shuffled silently out of the great hall Harry realized with a spasm of fear that they had first period with the Slytherins. It was becoming harder and harder to remain calm near Draco. Harry was more and more feeling ready to fling himself out the window or worse still, fling himself into Draco's arms. Harry could no longer trust himself to say and do the right things and his calm composure was seriously beginning to crack. It was all he could do just to stagger through the day without collapsing with exhaustion from trying to keep his emotions in check. His chest often felt so tight he found it difficult to breathe and he often would place a hand to his heart, just to be reassured by the familiar faint throbbing. It was in fact now, that Harry was stumbling along the hall drowning in misery when suddenly, his foot caught on something. Harry was completely thrown off balance ad he fell forward sharply, his head connecting with the marble floor with a sickening crack. He lay there for a moment, unable to breath, feeling his mouth swell with blood. Somewhere far away he heard laughter and someone shouting. With an enormous effort Harry raised his head off the floor and tried to look blearily around him. Everything was sort of slanted and beginning to dissolve into blackness, but what Harry saw made his heart shoot into his throat. There was Draco, and he seemed to be walking very quickly towards Harry, but the thing that nearly sent Harry into cardiac arrest was the fact that the look on Draco's face appeared to genuinely concerned. *What's going on?* Harry wondered frantically as the worried Draco started to spin round. The blackness was beginning to blur the picture round the edges and Harry wondered whether he was hallucinating. The worried Draco was now almost to Harry and Harry held his breath, frightened that if he breathed so much as a sigh this wonderful dream would end. But just as the worried Draco was about to stoop down to Harry, he was jarred roughly back and spun into the wall by a furious looking Ron. Harry was about to get up to help Draco when somebody grabbed hold of him and pulled him heavily to his feet. Hermione's voice sounded distant in Harry's ear. "Harry please! You've got to stand up." Harry swayed slightly and tried to steady himself as he kept his eyes glued to Draco. Draco now looked equally furious, as he put his face inches from Ron's and began to scream. Harry couldn't understand what they were saying, so instead he watched. He watched as shadows of rage clouded Draco's face., then he watched as Ron hit Draco full on across the cheek. Unable to stop himself, Harry gave a horrified cry of indignation and stumbled forward. Hermione caught his arm though and tightened her grip round his wrist as he began to shake. Draco's face cleared for a moment as he paused to wipe blood from his cheek but as he looked up at Ron his features contorted with fury and with a cry of rage he shot forward, arms outstretched. But as he swung, Ron easily sidestepped his blow and Draco staggered forward to fall roughly to the ground. Ron looked down and began to laugh maliciously, and with a ripple effect the throngs of students that had gathered eagerly to watch began to laugh too. The walls were ringing with laughter and all Harry could do was watch in horror as Draco flinched with each cruel cackle. And then, oh god, it was happening again. Harry's chest began to feel tight and his breath dragged as it rose up his throat. His heart felt it may spontaneously combust if he didn't do something soon, and his arms were shaking so hard Harry was frightened. He was frightened he couldn't take much more of this, couldn't take it if ...Harry's thoughts suddenly froze. His eyes had just fallen on Hermione's face, and she was looking at him, that look she was giving him... she knew. Everything inside Harry suddenly stopped, everything within him came to a grinding halt. Except his mind, it flew about in every direction throwing commands at Harry all at once. But he had to *do* something soon, he couldn't let her find out, he had to- he would cover it up. That's what he would do. With a click Harry regained use of his limbs, and felt himself breathing again. He then did the only thing he could think of; he laughed. He threw back his head and dug up something horrible inside him, that made the laugh come out malevolent and viciously cruel. He was still aware of Hermione's gaze latched upon him, unwavering. So he continued to laugh with all the rest, and then he was faintly aware of Ron sidling up and slinging an arm across his shoulders. He was dizzy with viciousness and began to feel faint as he watched Draco, shrinking back against the wall, a slender stream of blood shining on his cheek. "C'mon Harry." Ron spoke buoyantly, he was evidently overjoyed that Harry was laughing so openly. In fact, laughing at all for that matter. Harry wanted to hit Ron more than anything but he found himself smiling affectedly at him while he spoke, "Hold on a minute." And with a strange fluency in his legs, he felt them begin to move and he found himself walking up to Draco and pausing as he towered over him. His shadow fell over Draco's face, but Draco wouldn't look up. Streaks of blonde hair quivered on his brow, and Harry felt suddenly sad as he noticed one soaked red with blood. It was now that in Harry, there erupted a terrible eternal struggle. The sensible bit of him, his mind, was telling him to do one thing, while a voice from somewhere else told him to do another. The edges of his vision were once more beginning to turn black and he fought with all his might to catch hold of the right command. He was confused, his head was pounding, mind reeling. He didn't know what to do, didn't know what to do. So blindly, he reached out and grasped hold of one of the commands. And as he began to lean forward, it seemed the sensible bit of him had won after all. Harry fixed his face with the most bitter look of distaste and hatred he could salvage, and leaning forward he spat onto the top of Draco's golden head. Ron gave a whoop of laughter and Harry was about to join him, when the laughter died in his throat and the glower melted from his face. Draco had tipped his head up to stare mournfully into Harry's eyes and at that moment, Harry knew he'd made the wrong decision. He'd never seen Draco Malfoy show emotion, not ever. But now, his face was so pained it hurt Harry to look at it. Every line on his face was twisted with agony and every fleck of blue in his silvery eyes had grown dim and faded to a lifeless frigid gray. His mouth was crumpled into a grim knot of sorrow, and with a slouch of his narrow shoulders, he tore his eyes away from Harry's and gazed dismally at the ground., Harry's shadow sliding once more into his eyes. NO! Harry wanted to scream, no wait! But somehow Ron was leading him away, and Harry could only follow, watching as the darkness swam in and out of his vision. Ron dragged him back to Hermione, but before they could even take one step Harry pitched violently forward, no longer able to fight the blackness, no longer able to keep his legs from crumpling beneath him. And with a final sigh of despair, he collapsed. *********** "Shh!! Not so loud!" "Hermione, he's not a god damn war victim, he's just-" "Shhh, just throw this on him." "No way! You do it, I... " Heavy silence. "All right, all right. You don't have to give me one of those looks of yours. Just give me the damn thing." "Ron Weasly! You watch your lang-" "Aww, shut up Hermione." Something icy cold was suddenly dumped gracelessly over Harry's face and with a yelp Harry shot up. "You see, I told you it would-" "Hermione, shut up." Harry shook damp hair our of his eyes and found himself looking into the concerned faces of his two friends. "What?" "Harry you passed out." "Yeah, don't give me this 'what' crap." "You guys, I hit my head on solid marble. I was just a little dizzy that's all." Harry reached up to his forehead and grimaced as fingers roamed over a sizable bump. "How'd I fall anyway?" Ron snorted, his face growing dark. "Crabbe decided to have a little fun by tripping you. And then Malfoy was about to do his bit as well, but I grabbed him. Ha, he'll think twice before going near us again." Harry was silent and tried to ignore the fact that Hermione was staring at him again. He could feel her eyes boring into the side of his face and he wanted to shake off her searching gaze. "And that was great when you spit on him Harry. I never would have thought of that one, he looked almost like he was going to cry." Ron shook with a little after current of laughter. "What a pansy." It took everything inside Harry just to keep from splitting Ron's lip in two. It was agonizingly tempting but he pushed the urge aside and managed a tight lipped smile. Then Hermione was staring at him again and when she spoke her voice was edged with concern. "Harry, seriously though. I think we'd better take you to the hospital wing, that bump really doesn't look good." "Hermione! We've got potions next. There's no way we're going to be late to-" "Well don't worry about it, we all ready are. We might as well have an excuse. Come on." Ron heaved him to his feet, and held him beneath the arms to make sure he didn't plummet to the floor once more. Harry spoke through clenched teeth, "Ron I'm fine-" "No you're not," came the rather brusque reply. So Harry was led through the corridors and managed to trip up a number of staircases until they came to the door of the hospital wing. But before they hauled Harry inside, Ron paused and he and Hermione stepped to the side and began speaking in frantic whispers. Harry stared very hard at the wall, trying to appear like he wasn't listening, and strained his ears as hard as he could. He managed to catch some of the main bits. "...maybe now we can actually find out what's wrong with him. I mean, what's *really* wrong with him." "I know, it worries me how he's been. He's always-" Harry didn't catch the rest of that bit, but then there was, "...we'll have to ask Madame Pomfrey if...." Shit. Harry didn't want her breathing down his neck. His life was awful enough as it was. If he had her to worry about on top of everything else... he just may not live to see his 17th year of life. All though his friends may have cared a lot, Harry just wished occasionally that they'd lay off. It ended up being one big headache. Now this meant Harry would have to dig around inside himself for some bit of happiness to plaster on his face. He needed to appear cheerful and healthy, in order to withstand Madame Pomfrey's rigorous prying. Ron and Hermione seemed to have finished their discussion and were now rapping briskly at the door. There were some muffled thumps then the door swung open to reveal a breathless Madame Pomfrey. Her face fell as she noticed who it was. "Oh dear, not you three again. Can't you hold off on getting yourself into messes just this once? It's the height of the cold season and I've got flu patients up to my ears, I really-" "Please," Hermione began, seizing Madame Pomfrey's hand and putting on her most responsible face, "Harry needs your help." "Yes," Ron added, trying to look very distressed, "badly." Madame Pomfrey was beginning to look cross, "Then why are all the rest of you here? Hmm?" She peered at them skeptically over the rims of her spectacles. "Well, you see," Hermione began, taking her by the arm and leading her out of Harry's range of hearing. That was it, if Hermione got a word with her Harry was doomed. He had to stop his once and for all. "Actually," said Harry, stepping forward. "It's my head." "Your head?" "Yeah, I uh, tripped and I got this nasty bump." Harry pointed to his forehead, "Banged my head on the marble floor. Just a bit dizzy..." Madame Pomfrey bustled forward to examine the patient, all frowns and consternating looks. She gazed at it, tight lipped. "How's your vision?" "It was a little fuzzy before but now I'm all right." "Mmmhmm." What was that supposed to mean? "And does it still hurt?" "Uh... just a little." "I see." She pursed her lips and stared at him crossly, as if deciding something. "I'll be right back. Don't any of you touch anything." She hurried away, and the minute she left Ron and Hermione broke once more into urgent whispers. "You were supposed to talk to her!" "I tried didn't I?" "Well next time try harder!" "I will, it's just-" Madame Pomfrey bustled back into the room holding a funny looking box and the two immediately broke apart. She held the box up to Harry's face and told him sternly to "Close your eyes." Harry did so. She spoke a string of strange words and there was an enormous puff of bright purple smoke. Harry coughed and she hurried out of the room once more. She returned several moments later, "You're going to be fine Potter. That's quite a nasty bump, but there's no permanent damage. You might as well hurry along to class and stop wasting my time." Nobody moved. Except for Harry. He was at the door like lightening. "C'mon guys. We'd better go." Ron threw Hermione a look and gave her a little shove in the direction of Madame Pomfrey. Hermione cleared her throat, looking anxious. "Erm... Madame Pomfrey? We uh, wondered if we could ask you something." There was a long exasperated sigh. "Just make it quick, I haven't got all day." Hermione was at her side in an instant speaking in hushed tones. "Hermione," Harry tried to step forward but Ron put a hand on his arm, holding him back. After several moments, Madame Pomfrey's brow knitted into (if possible) deeper concern and she began to nod along with what Hermione said. When Hermione finally ran down, Madame Pomfrey pursed her lips thoughtfully and walked briskly towards Harry her eyes narrowed into two pondering slits. "I'll take a look at him. So depression, is that right Potter?" Harry tried to fix his face with a look of utter shock. "What?! That's not true at all, I-" "Ah yes, one of the first symptoms is denial." She was now circling Harry, examining him in that irritating way over the tops of her spectacles. "This one's always been a bit too thin," she went on prodding him in the stomach. "Hey!" Harry gasped, grasping his stomach and taking a step backward. "I'm fine! Would you just-" "Yes but you see he's even thinner than ever," added Hermione stepping forward, "Take a look at his arm." Madame Pomfrey seized it, and Harry tried to shove her away but she held fast and pushed up his sleeve to peer at it scrutinizingly. "See the way the bone sticks out in his wrist," Hermione pointed anxiously. "Mmm," she clucked her tongue in distaste, "Not eating properly is another strong sign..." "Will you lay off?" Harry cried, snatching his hand away. Madame Pomfrey ignored him, but straightened up to gaze him piercingly in the eye. "What is it then?" She inquired sharply, "What's wrong?" Harry realized quickly that he had to regain his composure, if he was to convince her that he was in fact, normal. He took several calming breaths and pushed back the strong urge to turn and sprint out the door. He swallowed thickly and tried a polite smile. "Nothing's wrong." "What's wrong with your face Potter?" The smile was becoming difficult to hold, but Harry pasted it there, unwavering. "Nothing." "You look like you've swallowed a skrewt Potter." Harry felt his face might crack, "I'm absolutely fine." "Smile for me Potter." Harry widened the face splitting grin, his patience thinning. He didn't realize that all he was doing was stretching the corners of his mouth in a sort of sickened grimace. "You see, he can't even smile properly anymore." "Mmmhmm. I think I have something for him. Stay there Potter." She disappeared for a moment and Harry threw Ron and Hermione the absolute coldest look he could manage. The very fires of hell would have frozen over with that look. Hermione smiled weakly as Ron stared at his feet looking guilty. She returned a moment later with a steaming, frothing cup. It was a warm golden color and it glittered like a cup of liquid sunshine. She thrust it into Harry's hand. "Drink this," she told him pointedly. "It will help you... smile easier." Harry put on his most winning smile, "Actually, I'd rather shove it up my-" "Harry!" Hermione broke him off in a high voice, "I think we'd better run along now. We've taken enough of Madame Pomfrey's time." "Keep the cup." She told them darkly before shooing them out the door. Before she slammed it shut, she a paused to hiss something into Hermione's ear. Hermione nodded shortly and then she vanished, shutting the door with a resounding bang. "Well we'd better hurry to potions. Snape's never happy to see us at all, none of the less-" she paused to look at her watch, "twenty minutes late." Ron nodded weakly and Harry said nothing, continuing to glower darkly at his feet. They walked in silence for several moments and there seemed an awkward tension in the air, before Hermione burst out, "Harry you really should drink your potion." Harry abruptly stopped walking and turned to Hermione, once more plastering the rehearsed smile to his face. He opened his mouth to say something but before he could speak, Hermione drew away with a shudder. "Oh Harry, don't do that. It's really quite frightening." Harry let the fixed grin fall from his face and scowled bitterly. "Fine." He snapped, then he began walking so quickly that they had to jog to keep up with him. "Harry!" Hermione puffed, "Couldn't we slow down just a little?" "You said we couldn't be late." Then he broke into an almost run so that he reached the potions hallway in moments and had to wait for Hermione and Ron to catch up. As he waited, he took the cup of dancing golden liquid and raised it cautiously to his lips. The minute it touched his tongue, Harry's mouth was flooded with a rich, smooth flavor and Harry's head was filled with images of lazy summer days and laughter and- Harry spat it out almost immediately, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand with disgust. He didn't need some sort of canned happiness to boost his spirits. Sickening really. He poured the rest into one of the flamed brackets on the wall. The flame sizzled strangely for a moment, before bursting into a dazzling rainbow spectrum and leaping halfway up the wall. It then made a small explosion, spattering the wall in rainbow drops. "Ugh. Glad I didn't swallow that." It was at that moment that Ron and Hermione came wheezing down the corridor and Snape's head shot round the door. "What was that noise?" He spat. His eyes narrowed as his gaze fell on his three least favorite students. His voice dripped with distaste, "And why are you three late to my class?" Hermione, ever bold, stepped forward and tossed her head haughtily. "We have perfect reason to be late. Harry was in the hospital wing." "Well isn't he always." Snape snapped. He eyed him maliciously, "What's wrong with you this time Potter? Another flaw in you because of your parent's bad breeding?" His eyes glittered triumphantly as the Slytherins erupted with laughter. All save one, and that was because his chair was empty. Harry's swell of anger was momentarily forgotten as his eyes fell on Draco's empty seat. He gazed at it morosely, feeling sorrow rise in him, inevitable and throbbing passionately. Harry's eyes grew dark and shadowed as he began to fall into another of his pained trances. Hermione's face flickered with worry as she recognized the faraway look seep into Harry's eyes. He was slipping away from them, every day sinking deeper and deeper into his enigmatic, yet strangely powerful pool of despair. Snape stepped forward, his stance noticeably menacing. "Didn't you hear me Potter?" he growled. Harry stayed silent, he didn't want to fight. He was too tired. Snape's eyes flashed dangerously, "I said, didn't you hear me Potter?" His voice had gotten very low and each syllable was enunciated with impending deliberance. He circled Harry, eyeing him closely, the way a tiger crouches by his prey before pouncing. Harry knew he was aching for a fight, but he wouldn't give it to him, wouldn't give him the satisfaction. It was difficult though. The anger was beginning to boil, beginning to writhe restlessly in the pit of his stomach. After all that had happened today Harry was dying to nail somebody right between the eyes. Ron and Hermione hung back warily, sensing Harry's restraint was beginning to wear dangerously thin. There was a ripple of unspoken hostility pulsating from Harry's direction; it seemed to emanate from him like some shimmering invisible wave of heat. Hermione watched him through large apprehensive eyes fearing his thin facade of equanimity would soon fall away. While Ron and Hermione watched on edge, the class, on the other hand, was absolutely enthralled. They were all bent eagerly forward in their seats, holding their breath. This was better than the movies or any play they'd seen acted out, *this* was live action. "Potter you are treading on dangerous ground. I advise you to act carefully. When I ask you a question, you answer. Is that clear?" A pregnant pause. "Is it?" His face leered uncomfortably close, eyes drilling into Harry's with such intensity he felt forced to take a step back. "Yes." A delicate smile curled Snape's lips. He'd gotten what he wanted. He had heard the edge of agitation in Harry's voice. Harry tried to appear calm, unfazed. But the tide of anger was now burning in his throat. He couldn't stand to have Snape insult his parents, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from opening his mouth. "Well then I would advise you to take care of your little problems outside my class. The fact that such trash accidentally mixed to create filth like you is irrelevant to me. It isn't my problem." The anger was now coursing swiftly through Harry's veins. Black and infectious, it swept over him like a disease, poisoning his blood with bitter currents of impetuous fury. He felt it jet through him, and he sank into it with weary relief, absolutely sick to death of clasping his emotions in his chest as they kicked at his ribcage, struggling to break free. He stepped forward, his eyes burning, ignited with the fiery spark that so often gleamed there when his temper seized control. Ron recognized it, along with the familiar heaving chest and clenched fists. He dropped his head to his hands, unable to watch. Whenever Harry got like this, disaster inevitably followed. "Well it isn't my problem that you lead such a miserable wretched existence that you have to go around picking fights with somebody half your age, and that you're so low you have to attempt to put dirt on the names of people you know were better than you'll ever be and who saved your pathetic ass when you were in trouble. It isn't my fault that *you* are so fucked up mentally that you spend half your wasted life messing with mine!" Harry finished his little torrent of rage by twisting his face into a scowl so bitter, even some of the Slytherins backed cautiously into their seats. Then as Harry's rage died away, the room fell silent. Flickers of emotion were strung tensely through the air, as the room sank into painfully ominous silence. Nobody even dared breathe as they watched Snape's face go form a horrible slate gray to a sort of bright mahogany, then back to absolutely no color whatsoever. Even his lips were drained of all complexion as they took on the sallow tinge of dolls in a wax museum. The only thing moving in the entire room was Harry as he had begun to shake rather violently, his face still screwed up in fury, but his shoulders trembling like mad. Snape stood frozen for several long minutes, his eyes shadowing slowly to two bottomless chasms of darkness, as different parts of his face began to twitch compulsively. It was like watching a bomb that was about to go off, the oppressive apprehension of just waiting draining the life from every person in the room, knowing that when the time came the explosion would be more horrible than one could imagine. He stayed like that, absolutely motionless, for several unbearable seconds, and then in one fluid motion, like a cat, he leapt forward and caught hold of Harry's arm. The whole class was so startled, they jumped all at once, together, as if it had been rehearsed. Snape's eyes burned with such hatred that the very emotions seemed to be bleeding into the space around him, igniting the air with a sort of maniacal, incandescent fire. His lips split into an insane sneer, and he began to hiss vehemently into Harry's ear. "How *dare* you? You are the most disgusting piece of filth I've ever laid eyes on. You insolence is a disgrace to anything I've ever done to help you. And yet, you dare insult me? You are so low, so vile that every time you take a step you infect the ground you walk on, every time you utter a word your breath has tainted the air around you, anyone you touch is now in danger of becoming a walking disease like you. You infest this world like some sort of horrible plague and yet you create for yourself a glittering facade. You have grown so bigheaded from you own ridiculous fame, that you make yourself believe you are better than you really are. You are worthless, you are nothing. Nothing but a big head, a sharp tongue, and a horrible temper that you've inherited from your miserable excuse for a father and if you're not careful you'll end up with the same fate as him." As he spoke, he had clasped his hand round Harry's wrist and raised him by it, almost off the ground so that he could breathe malevolently in his ear. And as words poured faster and faster from his venomous lips, his grip round Harry's wrist had grown tighter and tighter, till Harry's face broke with pain. His eyes began to dance wickedly and he snarled viciously in Harry's ear. "Apologize! Apologize at once!" Harry said nothing, face twisted with pain, but jaw clamped defiantly shut. Snape grew livid, and he gave Harry's arm an almighty wrench, twisting his wrist almost all the way around. Harry came crashing to his knees with a hollow cry and Snape barked at him, "That's right Potter, on your knees. Now apologize! Apologize for what you've done!" Harry's eyes were screwed up to two narrow slits and his breath was coming fast, as it clawed it's way up his throat. He was struggling, his face crumpled in concentration. And then, he swallowed, and bit his lip so hard that his skin split and a glistening ruby drop, shone there for a moment before sliding down his jaw. He gave a sort of ragged gasp, but riding on that current of air came a word, and though it was barely more than a cough it rang with embittered defiance, and was glorious in it's simplicity. "No." With a screech of rage, Snape crushed Harry's wrist in his grasp. There was a horrible crunching sound as bone gave way and Harry fell forward violently, his eyes flooding with pain. "OUT!" Snape shrieked, pointing to the door, his entire arm trembling with fury, "Out of my sight! I never want to lay eyes on you again, you vermin!" He gave Harry a fierce kick, but stumbled back, shocked as Harry heaved himself off the floor. Harry managed to climb shakily to his feet, his crushed arm dangling limply by his side. With his last bit of energy he dug around inside himself to find his voice and though it sounded he had a throat stuck with knives, he turned to Snape and stared at him, undaunted, his eyes glinting savagely. "Never, ever talk about my parents that way." And with that, he raised his fist and sent it smashing into Snape's nose in a fabulous roundhouse punch. Before Snape could wipe the blood from his face and rush forward to bash the living daylights out of Harry (or exceedingly, exceedingly worse) Harry turned, and ran. ********************* Well there it is, hope you enjoyed it, and don't worry there's loads more to come very soon. There is no question in my mind that you will write a long and lovely review, because those just make my day. Thank you so much to everybody who reviewed the first two chapters, you are the ones who inspire me to go on. Thank you again~ annika. 


	4. Broken

Sin Laced Sweet Infatuation 

Sin Laced Sweet Infatuation   
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters in any way, shape, or form. They belong to the phenomenally talented Miss J.K. Rowling. But I'm sure you didn't know that all ready, right? RED ALERT: Also, this story contains slash. This, in essence, is the act of two boys *COUGH* well, you get my drift, anyway it's them doing naughty things and thinking sinful thoughts. Whatever, if this bothers you, my words for you are short and quite direct if I do say so myself: LEAVE. 

Chapter 4- Broken Draco Malfoy had never been so upset in all his life. He might as well have been dead, it felt the same. In fact, no. This was worse. The pain that swept over him was so intense and so ravaging that Draco could scarcely breathe. He lay aching, every inch of him screaming with agony. His heart, his heart lay splintered in his chest, shattered into oblivion by that bastard Harry Potter. Yes, Harry fucking Potter. He'd had Draco's heart in his fist, where he had begun squeezing the life from it many months before, but today he'd ground it to dust. Crumpled it mercilessly into thousands of tiny pieces, leaving Draco to stagger, hollow chested, numb with pain. But if his heart was destroyed then why did it still hurt so much? The pain shuddered through him in great aching bursts, wave after pulsating wave of torrential, excruciating agony. The stream of bitter, raw emotion tossed him roughly, jarring him and crushing him and suffocating him all at once. He had been going to *help* Harry, to fucking help him. He hadn't meant to, but he'd been seized by this moment of rash heroism and he was momentarily blinded by his dark obsession, left to fumble helplessly with his overpowering emotions. But then, stupid ass Ron Weasley had tried to do the same thing, and he'd shoved Draco away. Then he'd hit him, and humiliated him, and they laughed. They'd all laughed. Draco moaned aloud. It hadn't been so bad until, oh god, until Harry... Draco hadn't thought he was one of them, there'd been the slightest chance he might be different. Until Draco saw him, saw his Harry laughing cruelly along with all the rest. It had been like something out of one of Draco's nightmares, and all he could see was Harry's face, those green eyes glittering maliciously, those beautiful eyes... Draco clutched at the wall to keep from sliding to the floor; his head felt it might explode. And when he breathed too hard his chest felt it might collapse. He was falling apart, no, his world was falling apart. The only scrap of sanity he'd clung to had been Harry. In this bitter, black world, Harry had been the pinprick of light. His love steeped reveries of Harry had kept him clinging to hope, allowed him to dream of something better. But now those dreams were dissolving into nightmares and despite his valiant efforts to grasp hold of his cherished fantasies, they were slipping through his fingers. Vanishing, sliding away from him irrevocably, leaving him with nothing but blackness. And when Harry had given him that look and, and spit on him... The world of nightmares had become a bleak reality; there was no longer any hope, just blackness. Suffocating, draping, clutching, enveloping blackness. It consumed his heart like a disease, and he could feel it shredding his insides, rending him apart with jagged, icy claws. The pain was everywhere; it was streaming in from every pore, slicing him open and shattering him bit by unbearable bit. It was in his chest, in his arms, his legs, his face. It was like every bit of him had begun to bleed without stop, and he was being bled away into nothingness. He was slipping away from himself, slowly sliding out of his own clutches. His misery was poisoning him and if he didn't do something soon, he feared he wouldn't last much longer. Draco felt himself slithering miserably down the wall, the grimy, cold unbearable wall. It was some bathroom, on some floor, in some part of this *fucking* school. After the incident with Harry he had ran, stumbled, crawled, dragged himself as far away from that place as he could. And he tore blindly into the first dark human less place he could find. The bathroom must have been deserted long ago because it was musty and dank and horrible. The walls dripped with something oily and unpleasant and cobwebs hung in a thick musty canopy overhead. The smell of rot, hung heavy in the air and a stench of long abandonment seeped from the walls. It was freezing; Draco could see his own breath frozen into pearly white clouds, as it curled from his icy lips. A window, way high up in the wall had long ago been blasted open by the cold. The shattered glass plates that once covered it now hung dismally by a broken hinge and moaned ruefully when the wind screamed through. It must have been cold because Draco's hands had begun to shake. Or were they doing that before? For several seconds now, Draco had been thinking almost normally and he began to feel a flicker of pride, until he was suddenly gripped by another unbearable tide of excruciating torment. He fell forward, gasping and writhing, his hands clawing at the soiled broken tiles. He couldn't bear this much longer, he thought shakily as he tried to haul himself to a sitting position. He knew it wasn't only his body that was weakened by it, more important of all his soul hung in tattered shreds and his heart was nothing more than a bleeding, crumpled heap. He noticed the bandage he'd wound around his hand last night, had once more become steeped in blood. He picked at it wearily and then was suddenly overcome with memories of an achingly wonderful sort of dream he'd been having about Harry. He sighed brokenly and fell back languidly against an old chipped toilet bowl. He slowly shut his eyes, letting his head flood with lovely images of a forgotten dream. Then something happened to Draco that hadn't happened for over a decade. His throat suddenly became choked and tight, and the corners of his eyes began to sting. Something bitter, and acrid began to burn its way down Draco's cheek. The tender flushed skin beneath his eyes began to tingle, and a gasp caught in Draco's throat as his eyes suddenly swelled with searing, salty liquid that streamed forth feverishly, carving poisonous ribbons down his cheek. They fell soundlessly without stop, painting his cheeks in a faint, salty sheen, and burning delicate skin an angry, livid red. His eyes burned with them and they were everywhere, gliding down his cheeks, past his mouth, around his nose, and slithering down his neck. The saltwater coursed through the cut beneath his eye sending it welling angrily with fresh blood, and blood and tears ran together along his face, searing parched lips and soaking the collar of his shirt. This feeling, this feeling of crying, it was so oddly foreign, but as the tears cascaded faster down his cheeks he began to remember. It was as if a part of him had dried up eleven years ago and had begun to rust and decay, but now it was running in full fashion, and he surrendered himself to it almost gratefully. And although he cried, sobbing was beyond him. He didn't make a sound, only let himself fall to the floor, trembling brokenly, feeling the tears come and come. He ached inside, undyingly, and he felt with each shower of tears his soul was streaming from his eyes. Time became inevitable, skittering by Draco without him noticing and it could have been hours he had lain there. It was only after a long silence in his mind that a word suddenly flashed there, a name. Harry. It was just a thought, his name flashing across Draco's mind like a flicker of lightning, brilliant in the dull gray clouds of a coming storm. But the sudden thought sliced through Draco like a knife, succeeding in taking the gaping hole in Draco's heart and wrenching it open to a yawning, empty void. It occurred to Draco, most suddenly, that *this* was Harry's fault. Draco sat up and dragged himself in front of a partly shattered mirror, black with age, propped up against the decaying wall. He scowled at himself bitterly; he was repulsive. Then again he had always had been but Harry had led him to further deterioration. It was true; Draco strutted around the place with an air of unquestionable arrogance, a sort of smug self-satisfaction that seeped from every pore. He managed to carry himself with striking charisma, and he seemed to simply emanate the seeming knowledge that he *knew* he was gorgeous. But in truth... it was all a lie. All an act, a clever facade Draco had erected before he could remember, to cover up the blatant holes in his real personality. In truth, Draco despised his self-image, he found himself repulsive. But in order to shy away from that truth, he pretended it didn't exist. Simply really. Draco had been instructed from a very young age to fabricate, to deceive people, spinning lies in a glittering gossamer web. Luckily for Draco, it came easily to him. It was second nature for him to step into his usual eloquent self, the one that propelled self confidence and simply reeked admirable poise. Unfortunately for Draco, when the lights went out, his clever mask fell away. He glowered at himself disdainfully, taking in the sunken cheekbones and decidedly too defined jaw line. Too much messy blonde hair, tangled in thick chunks fell into his eyes. He despised every curve on his face, every delicate bone that jutted somewhat effeminately from beneath his eyes. His eyes were what he hated most of all, he noted darkly as he stared into the hollow caverns above his cheek. In the dim light of the bathroom everything was a bold shade of ebony, and one eye was cloaked completely in shadow. Suddenly it became evident why his own gaze often caused him to shrink back in distaste. The eyes that blinked back at him were the same frigid, ice blue of his fathers. Haunting and starkly poignant, they always sent an abrasive shiver down Draco's spine. He turned away somewhat forcefully, chasing disturbing thoughts of his father from his mind. A solitary tear wavered down his cheek and he wiped at it vehemently, eyes unable to stray from the image in the mirror. Despite his lack of admiration for his usual self image, the face that stared back at him now was nothing short of revolting. He was a mess. His hair lay in bloodied clumps against his forehead. His face was grimy, smudged all over with, with ...*something* black. Tears made naked trails through the dirt and stood pale and forlorn against his darkened skin. Everything was bloody, his cheek, his face, his hand, his shirt. And as he rubbed hopelessly at his eyes, blood from his hand smeared along his cheekbone in ugly, crimson streaks. *This* was Harry's doing. It was Harry's stupid friend who had hit Draco in the face, it was Harry, after all, who made him cut his hand, Harry who'd caused him to waste away eating nothing, living on tequila, it was Harry who'd robbed him of sleep, forming those horrid dark circles round his eyes. Harry, Harry, *Harry*. Draco stared at his reflection with disgust, hating it more and more the longer he looked. He wanted to break it; he wanted to obliterate it, at the same time desperately wanting to break Harry's face. Rage swelled in him, momentarily brushing aside the pain and it was deliciously empowering. He raised a trembling fist and then paused, breathing hard, before he threw all his weight into shattering that horrible mirror. There was a terrible crunching sound as the glass was ground into thousands of tiny bits and Draco sucked his breath in sharply as he picked shards of glass out of his bloodied fist. It should have hurt. It *looked* like it hurt, but somehow he felt nothing and the fact that he was now buzzing with numbness only succeeded in making him more angry. It was again the blatant and horrible truth, glaringly evident that this was Harry's fault. Harry had made him break the mirror. Draco continued to pluck the glass from his knuckles and felt anger boiling savagely in his chest. It burned at his lungs, and he felt ravished by it. And that hurt. Everything hurt because of Harry. That miserable bastard had ruined Draco's life and Draco was sick of it. Once again he wanted to hurt Harry, he wanted to hurt him for making Draco hurt. Wanted to bring him a pain so intense it would break him, shatter him just as it had done to Draco. And all of a sudden, Draco was stricken with a brilliant idea. He suddenly knew a way he could crush Harry while at the same time getting exactly what he wanted. It was just an idea of course, but the more Draco thought about it, the more it seemed right, and all at once, Draco was flooded with a sort of sick satisfaction. He was finally going to get what he wanted and the knowledge of this somehow gave him energy. Energy to climb unsteadily to his feet, wipe futilely at his face with the back of his hand, and leave the miserable bathroom behind. The feeling of control that seized him was just enough to tide him over, to keep him from tearing his hair from his scalp, to keep from thrusting a knife into his own chest. He was dancing on the brink of sanity and this; this would keep him back long enough to survive. ~ Wow, I am really sorry it's taken at least twenty years to post this, my computer was basically having the computer equivalent of epileptic fits or something the past few months and was not permitting me on fanfiction.net. A very frightening time I can assure you, but hopefully (fingers fiercely crossed) that problem has gone away for good. Just thanks for being patient with me, please review and I have loads and loads more to come, luv, annika~* (ooh, p.s. who's seen Harry Potter? I've all ready managed to see it twice and though not the best movie in the world and never as good as the books, I adored it. I mean how could you not? Just smashing, fantabulous) 


	5. Smooth Criminal

Sin Laced Sweet Infatuation 

Sin Laced Sweet Infatuation   
Disclaimer: These characters are the property of one completely and utterly brilliant Miss J.K. Rowling. Without her, well, these stories would probably be crap. WARNING: *sirens blaring, neon lights flashing* If you are in any way uncomfortable with the idea of two boys obsessed with oneanother, and muwhaha doing bad things with each other, I suggest you leave. To put it shortly, this story contains slash. 

Chapter 5- Smooth Criminal Harry was afraid his lungs might collapse if he ran any longer. So gasping, he careened into an empty classroom and dropped himself heavily to the floor. He lay panting against the door, sweaty and shaking, every bit of him poised and alert, each muscle ready to spring into action if the door behind him should be thrust open. Every nerve was strained and adrenaline jetted through him, as he seemed to have a horrible sense that the door would be flung open any moment and a team of armed guards would wrestle him to the floor and lead him away, shackled hand and foot. He felt like he was in one of those muggle films where a juvenile delinquent was on the run. Like he was some horrible teenage murderer, crouching breathless in dank sewers and sprinting down shadowed alleyways, pausing only to light a cigarette before plunging his bloodied knife into the next victim. Tides of guilt drenched him, so he was left steeped in heavy regret. The last few moments in the potions room seemed like an out of body experience, like something out of a bizarre dream. Harry could hardly believe how angry he'd gotten, and...and what it had led him to. What had he been thinking? *Oh god*, Harry moaned, the scene now thrumming through his head. He dropped his head into his hands plaintively, feeling his face burn with humiliation. He'd hit Snape; a teacher. *Snape was a teacher*. The force of that statement seemed to hit Harry full on in the gut. What would happen to students who did that? Would they get expelled? Would he be locked away in some dungeon? Or worse yet, would he be forced to go through some sort of intensive new age therapy with Snape? Would he be forced the resign from the wizarding world, and have his wand ceremoniously snapped like in the military? There were so many horrible possibilities, each more unpleasant than the one beofe. The truth was however, that Harry had no idea what they would do to him because he'd never heard of anything like this happening before. And the thought of this, was exhaustively terrifying in it's implications. He still couldn't believe what he'd done. It was like, all these years the tension between him and Snape had just been building and building and building. Like an elastic band that just kept getting stretched and stretched so taught it was almost unbearable, and then finally, today, it had snapped. Because now that Harry thought about it, Snape had been almost more crazed than he had. Harry placed a tentative finger to his wrist and almost bit his tongue in half as his entire face convulsed with pain. He looked at it now, his breath coming hard, hissing tightly between clenched teeth. Something about the bone formation no longer looked natural and there were horrible swelling splotches of blue and deep black purple blossoming all up his arm. Harry glowered at it spitefully, *That neurotic physcopathic bastard, I think he broke half the bones in my wrist.* And it was his right arm. He'd hardly be able to play quidditch if this didn't heal properly. Harry tried to flex his fingers but was once again jarred with pain and his eyes squeezed shut inadvertantly, muscles cramping in a sour cry of indignation. Harry let his head fall back against the wall and let out a long, weary sigh. How had he gotten so angry? It was so uncharacteristic of him to snap like that, to just sort of explode. But Harry was constantly on edge now, wasn't he? Always tense and distressed, aching over his broken heart. *Oh my god, Draco.* Harry suddenly realized, like a slap in the face, that he hadn't thought of him for longer than he could ever remember. But now that the fair haired boy had made a recurrence in his mind, the pain was intensified beyond imagination. Harry hadn't even had time to agonize over what he'd done to Draco, but now all the horrible feelings that had been swept aside were once again tearing around inside him. How he could he have done that to Draco? It was unfathomable; sheer and absolute madness. It was as if Harry no longer had a grip on himself, like he had lost control of his actions. A glance down to his hands, his madly shaking hands, and there was a sharp sort of realization inside him. The next time this happened, next time he snapped, he just might not escape from the perilous grasp of insanity; next time it happened, it might be too late. His chest swelled with sorrow as he suddenly recalled the look in Draco's eyes, that raw, unmasked anguish. Like a fever, sweltering in the pits of his eyes, a disease staining Draco's soul. It didn't occur to Harry for a second why Draco should be torn apart by such suffering, it was only evident to Harry that it was all his fault. His fault. The words scorched through Harry's mind in a blaze of guilt, a spasm of shame and Harry cringed, feeling that inevitable ache began to resound once more in his chest. Clutching his head in his hands he began to rock compulsively, back and forth, back and forth. He sat like that for what seemed an eternity, an eternity in Harry's dark, troubled mind, until it began to gnaw at him. Reality. The fact that he had to *do* something. He couldn't just sit there forever, wasting away. All though it seemed the sole thing Harry wished to do at the moment. Scraping together his remaining tattered scraps of strength, he climbed haggardly to his feet, and threw open the door to stick his head wearily into the deserted corridor. Of course, it was empty. Right. Harry felt his shoulders sag with a little sigh of relief. He bit his lip and stared back and forth down either passage. Which way to go? Not like it really mattered. So shaking off the horrible cold prickling of apprehension, he swung out to his right and began walking briskly with his eyes to the floor. He found his feet leading him up staircase after staircase, unconsciously taking himself as far from anybody as possible. Disgusted at his own undercurrent of cowardice he turned around to maybe lead himself in the *direction* of Dumbledore's office. Of course he wasn't going to go there right away, he wasn't nearly *that* brave. So he plodded along, the usual tirade of thoughts battering around inside his head, the usual emotions wringing his heart, so lost in thought that he didn't notice as someone fell silently into step behind him. He in fact, still didn't notice as that person drew close enough behind to fall into alignment with his shadow. Then all of a sudden, like a bomb exploding in his path, he was jarred out of his troubled reflections as he was knocked forcefully to the ground, his arms twisted behind his back. Harry gave a yelp of pain as his crushed wrist was wrenched unpleasantly. He lay there gasping as someone leapt nimbly off him, but pressing his arms to his back as they paused to pull something from their belt. The seconds were stretched to eternity as thousands of thoughts stampeded across Harry's mind. Was this it? Was he being taken away because of what he'd done to Snape? His chest felt tight as if oxygen was trapped in his lungs, and as he struggled to breathe he was hauled roughly to his knees, the grip around his arms tightening fiercely. The pain in his wrist was almost unbearable and a hollow cry escaped his lips. Almost immediately a mouth was at Harry's ear and he felt something sharp jammed into the small of his back. Harry bit his lip to suppress another cry of pain, then froze as the voice began to whisper harshly in his ear. "Not another sound Potter or this knife is going straight through your spinal cord. Now you're going to do exactly as I tell you, you're going to stand up and you're going to walk quickly and silently wherever I lead you. If you breathe so much as a whisper do not doubt for a second that none of your faithful little sidekicks will ever find your remains." Harry was so overwhelmed with shock he nearly choked. Or maybe that was because his heart had rocketed into his throat where it now throbbed incessantly. Something like indescribable joy was coiling Harry in it's querulous fist and the ice in Draco's words took several seconds to sink in. It hardly occurred to Harry to be at all apprehensive from the dangerous glint of unharnessed anger that was brazenly evident in Draco's tone. He was flying on wings of pure elation, thrilled beyond belief that Draco was pressed against his back. He was glad Draco clasped him so tightly, for Harry knew, had he been standing on his own he would have been trembling with titillation, knees collapsing as his body went weak with pure joy. Harry's head swam with euphoria and the world swayed slightly as Harry became delirious with rapture. It took at least a full minute for Harry's brain to catch up with his heart. The warm swell of delight blossoming in his stomach suddenly froze. It abruptly occurred to Harry that there was a knife thrust into his back. Draco's words suddenly began to swirl about in Harry's brain and an impetuous chill encased his heart. The edge of anger engrained in Draco's tone stung Harry like needles dipped in venom, the frigid abhorrence that lurked beneath his words carving acrid lacerations on the surface of Harry's soul. The fear that began to simmer in Harry's chest was then strangely calmed, as once again he was struck with the inescapable feeling of joy that just because it was Draco who was doing this to him it didn't matter. This was Draco, *his* Draco, meaning everything else sort of became inevitable. That was Draco's hand curled fiercely round his wrist and Draco's voice slipping into his ear, Draco's breath, hot against his neck. Draco, Draco, *Draco*. Then Harry felt sick, overwhelmed by the violent paroxysm of emotion that seized him. So exhausted from the onslaught that he felt he might collapse. So confused, because it seemed he didn't know what to feel, and the shock delivered Harry a vicious blow, so he was left staggering blindly, trying to balance out the tirade of emotions. A hand snaked around Harry's waist to slide into his pocket and grasp his wand. Agile fingers slipped back around Harry's waist and Harry felt a flicker of fire against his ear, "I think *I'll* hold on to this for the moment." Then Harry was dragged roughly to his feet, the knife still twisted into his back. "Walk Potter." So Harry walked. Draco first keeping tight hold around Harry's wrists, then sliding one arm possessively across Harry's chest, his fingers ground painfully into Harry's ribs. Harry couldn't even think, it was like his head was in a steel clamp, all thoughts ground mercilessly to a halt. He felt frozen all over, numb with shock. In fact, it was remarkable that his legs continued to march stoically forward, it was like being on auto-pilot. Every now and then Harry would glance down to see the rise and fall of his chest beneath Draco's arm, just to make sure he was still breathing. They walked on, sinking lower and lower into the castle, no doubt heading toward the dungeons. The hallways were completely lifeless, void of any people whatsoever, but they did seem to be hurrying down a lot of narrow crooked passageways that Harry didn't recognize. There was one tense moment when Draco dashed hastily behind a curtain because the bell rang and the hallway suddenly flooded with crowds of chattering students. Harry could hear his heart pounding in his ears as Draco pressed him to the wall, hand over his mouth. The knife was now at Harry's throat and Harry watched Draco's eyes as he stood frozen, ears strained, waiting for the babble of voices to subside. His eyes were intent, narrowed, with tight little lines at the corners. They had that cold, dead look when they seemed to frost over, void of all emotion, irises painted an icy, frigid grey. The chilly gaze burned a hole right through Harry's heart; it pained him to see Draco so malignant, so bitter so much like... his father. Harry swallowed tightly, feeling the cool blade sink into his neck, but it was at that moment that the muffled voices beyond the curtain were beginning to thin and Draco lowered the knife, his face still rigid with concentration. Finally the ringing voices faded away and the sound of doors closing ceased. Draco paused, listening, but upon hearing nothing he spun Harry quickly around and they slipped from behind the curtain and hurried on their way. They continued to descend sloping stone staircases until Harry knew they were in the very depths of Hogwarts, as the air was dank and heavy and the walls glistened with some nameless slimy moisture. A chill hung in the icy corridors and the torches on the walls shuddered every so often, dancing meekly as a mysterious draft set them cowering in their brackets. They finally paused beside a portion of the stone wall and Draco hissed something at it, causing it to rumble slightly before grinding back to one side to reveal a dimly lit, dreary looking room. With a stab of recognition, the image of the Slytherin common room came flooding back to him and a new surge of fear swelled sloshingly in Harry's stomach. Cold, cold dread seemed suddenly to take it's claim on Harry and sank like ice into his flesh, and as Harry remembered the spiteful gleam in Draco's eye he realized there was no escape. The hopelessness of the situation suddenly struck a cord in Harry's chest, shattering any hopes he had of this nightmare somehow twisting into a dream. It was fear suddenly, and it was real and fierce and alarmingly truculent as it burned a rash across Harry's soul. He felt himself prodded across Slytherin's sinister common room: an obsidian nightmare of flickering, cackling shadows. Draco led them to a door to the left of the fireplace and kicking it open, Draco gave Harry a fearsome shove so that Harry found himself teetering at the top of more stairs, spiraling dizzily downward and melting away into volumes of nothingness. Harry tried to steady his racing heart as he tripped blindly down the winding stone steps. He was feeling lightheaded, with the pressing darkness and the narrow slanting steps continuing to spiral down and down. It was unbelievable how far into the earth Hogwarts seemed to go and Harry decided not to think about it as his foot caught, pitching him dizzyingly forward into space. But Draco's hand was there, grasping his arm, pulling him back against his chest, the knife once more thrust into Harry's back. Harry not only felt dizzy he was beginning to feel violently ill. Sick with fear, and overwhelmed at the same time by the knowledge that whatever Draco did to Harry would shatter all predetermined perceptions of ecstasy, because Draco was like his drug, his opiate. He craved him with everything he possessed, everything he knew to be real and everything he knew to be not. It became like poison filtering through his heart and he could almost taste it in his mouth and in some distorted respect it was bitterly delicious, like split blood in a struggle he couldn't control. He felt mad with indecision but all he knew was that there was no turning back and though it lay like hell before him there was simply *no other way*.

Then finally, *finally* they reached the bottom of the never-ending stairwell and Draco reached an arm around Harry to push the door open and shove Harry inside.

Harry was immediately overcome by the same impression he got from the Slytherin's common room: everything everywhere was black. The room was painted in impervious, ebony shadows; everything five feet beyond Harry's line of vision dissolving into dusky, counterfeit pools of india ink. The long sepulchral bed-hangings were black, lined in gray satin, along with everything else and the only light came from several shivering ice blue flames held in torch brackets upon the wall. Thin light shimmered weakly to throw its light only a few feet in every direction giving the room an eerie trembling sapphire tint. Harry had an immediate instinct to turn round and run at breakneck speed back up the stairs, but Draco was just closing the door and still held fast to Harry's arm. Harry suddenly began to wonder why more Slytherins weren't committing suicide on a daily basis, it seemed only natural that nobody would survive living in a place like this. He glanced curiously at Draco, whose face was now bathed in shadow, the hollows round his eyes now enormous black pools and the way his cheekbones dipped in, emboldened by the darkness which painted heavy streaks down his jaw. It was a wonder even Draco had survived this long and Harry was seized by a sudden horrible sadness and staring at Draco now he felt the familiar shard of longing twist sharply in his chest. He began to tremble, his knees going sickeningly weak, threatening forcedly to bring him crashing to the floor right then and there. Draco paid no attention. He pushed Harry onto a bed, and crossed quickly to the door, giving the knob a sharp tap and muttering some spell. He then melted into the shadows at the foot of the bed and Harry sat, taut and rigid now, every muscle frozen in terror, restraining from any sort of movement, his eyes large and apprehensive. Harry's pulse began to quicken and he felt he had to draw enormous breaths, because the darkness was so oppressive Harry felt it smothering him, each breath he drew crushing his lungs. Adrenaline began to jet through him, poisoning his blood with readiness, not knowing what was coming but still sensing something. He felt his heart hammering against his chest so hard he felt he might break a rib. Then Draco appeared, sliding once more out of the shadows into a wavering puddle of bluish light. Harry hadn't quite gotten a look at him since this whole bizarre incident had begun and now Harry felt his heart in it the course of its hammering madness, simply freeze. And Harry's jaw dropped. And something between Harry's legs began to burn. He was still a mess. There were coal colored smudges smeared beneath his eyes, his shirt hung sodden with blood, and his hair was everywhere spilling messily into his eyes, several golden arcs sweeping past his ears to brush his cheek. But good *god*, was he gorgeous. Despite the general nastiness commonly associated with being bloody and torn and battered; Harry found it nauseatingly inevitable that no matter how objectionable Draco's appearance, he was sodding beautiful in Harry's eyes. He was approaching Harry *ever* so slowly and Harry found his gaze riveted to Draco's eyes. That livid expression that could elicit something in Harry that he hadn't known existed. Cloaked so expressively in shadow that only the dramatic curve of his cheekbone was accentuated in an ivory arc against the pits that were his eyes and he became a painting because for a moment he didn't seem real. Harry found that suddenly he couldn't breathe because he feared it was all a dream and he was only just going to wake up and realize fantasies of this kind were far beyond Harry's straining fingertips. Then at the same time something occurred to him quite shockingly; this whole situation was conventionally thought of as a nightmare, catalogued as terrifying to most rational groups of society and it was at that moment that he realized how deep this obsession ran, darker and more inviolable than blood, throbbing in sinuous ribbons beneath his skin. *Nothing* Draco did could change Harry's feelings about him and suddenly everything clicked into perspective and Harry was scared out of his mind. Then he was shivering all over and seemed to withdraw momentarily from his tortuous stream of troubled thoughts as with a sudden clenching of his insides his eyes fell to Draco's hands. There was an acrid twinge of recognition as the familiar linking chains of iron took on a name in Harry's mind. Handcuffs. Draco was holding handcuffs, and eyes glittering madly, he climbed onto the bed and pushed Harry rather forcefully back against the cold reality of the headboard and the world around him faded to blackness. ~ Hmm, I most definitely *need* feedback. Believe me when I tell you it's my life blood. I know it's sad and emotionally stilted and codependent and all that sort of thing but that's the way it is, I need to be reassured about my writing, and I mean seriously guys, how is it? Please tell me, I'm on my knees. Oh and sorry for the cliffhangerness but my original plan of making the whole thing one continuous chapter was sheer madness due to the fact it went on for ages. I've got the whole next part written and all that, just give me reviews and I'll see what I can do. 


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